


As Dreams are Made On

by Emma



Series: The Queen's Magicians [9]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy Davidson's first Torchwood case… This is <i>Random Shoes</i>. I never could see the purpose of that episode, other than to highlight Gwen's "humanity". But I liked Eugene, so.... The title is taken from The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"So how long have you known Jack, then?"_

_Andy grinned at Rhys. Gwen's boyfriend was the kind of guy people liked and trusted in a vaguely condescending way – a good bloke – but Andy could see the flash of keen intelligence in his eyes. The guileless look would fool a great many, but Andy doubted it deceived any of the bunch sprawling around Toshiko's flat._

_"Since the baptismal font, actually. He's an old friend of the family."_

_Rhys's eyes slewed towards the Torchwood leader. Jack was sitting in a corner of the leather sofa, one hand resting on Ianto's knee as the younger man perched on its arm._

_"He's older than he looks, then."_

_Andy selected a spicy crab roll from the sushi platter. "You could say that."_

_"You know, I used to live a very boring life." Rhys sipped at his beer. "Now it's just one damn thing after another."_

_They looked at each other and chorused "Bloody Torchwood!" before howling with laughter._

_Rhys had come out of the coma two days after they had rescued Gwen from Suzie Costello. He had needed a lot of physical therapy, and he was often in agonizing pain. Without quite discussing it, they had gotten into the habit of visiting him at odd hours, keeping him entertained. Jack had taught them to play Spoil Five, and ferocious tournaments had ensued on the weekends. Tonight, they were celebrating Gwen's birthday and the end of Rhys's therapy course._

_"Not so bad, really, Torchwood," Rhys said after they had wound down. "After all the stories I'd heard growing up, I wasn't sure about any of it. But Gwen seems to like it, and from the little she tells me I think it makes a difference."_

_"Oh yes. That it does." Andy said softly._

_"How did you end up working for Jack? If you don't mind my asking," Rhys said hastily. "You can tell me to mind my own business if you'd rather."_

_"I'm curious too," Toshiko said. She had been listening to their conversation as she walked around replenishing trays. "Gwen says she joined because she was tired of feeling that she was wasting her time. But somehow I don't think that's how it happened with you."_

_Andy looked at Jack and smiled. "No, it wasn't."_

_"So how was it, then?" Gwen asked. "Curiosity's been killing me, you know. How did the youngest Senior Constable in the Glamorgan Police end up as a Torchwood undercover operative?"_

_"Tell them," Jack said. "Eugene deserves to be remembered."_

Well, Gwen, it wasn't a matter of a policeman becoming a Torchwood operative, more like the other way around. I'm fourth-generation Torchwood. It was pretty much assumed that I would go into the family business, though in what capacity they were all in doubt… I didn't have a Talent, you see. There was something there, the Sensitives were sure of that, but it was all latent, and as the years went by and nothing manifested, everyone resigned themselves to my becoming some sort of office type, a glorified secretary, as one of my uncles put it. Tad tried to hide his disappointment, but you know teenagers… when it comes to how their parents feel about them, they don't miss much.

By the time I finished my quadrivium – don't look so surprised Owen, my family is very old-fashioned in some things – I wanted to put as much distance between me and Torchwood as possible. After some nasty arguing, my Tad offered to let me go spend my gap year with his cousin who had emigrated to the States. He lived in Chicago and taught at Northwestern University.

Chicago and I were a match made in heaven. Big city but didn't feel like it. The University is actually in a small town called Evanston. My uncle has a nice small house right off campus; he walks to school every morning. I would go with him and just explore the place. At Northwestern nobody thinks much of someone just sitting in the back of the classroom. Or I would take the train and go downtown and go to the museums. And before anybody asks, it's a hard-drinking city, so there's no problem getting pissed on the weekends if that's your pleasure.

There was a coffee shop near campus and that's where I met Branwen. She was a transplant, like myself, but she was on scholarship and worked for spending money. Two years older than I. She's still there, now a full professor. We still talk now and then. Anyway… She had a brother named Eugene, lived back home with their Mam. She worried about him fiercely. He was one of those dreamers, she said, his head always on the clouds. Obsessed with old fairy tales and always thinking he was going to make his fortune like one of Grimm's orphan boys. Branwen used to say he was the kind to exchange the cows for the magic beans except with his luck the only thing he would get out of the exchange was a bowl of chili.

When it came time for me to go back home, I was no wiser than before in the matter of a career, but I had learned a great deal from Branwen… yes, ma'am, I'll wipe the leer from my face. But there I was, my ticket was bought and I was expected home.

Branwen came to say goodbye, but she was really distracted. When I asked her what was going on, she said she'd had a very strange message from Eugene, something about not worrying about finances any longer, and how she would be able to pick and choose what she wanted to do with her life. Odd, disjointed, like he was high on something, and as far as she knew, Eugene didn't even drink beer. She asked me to go see him and try to find out what was going on.

I had a nice welcome home party the Friday and spent the weekend doing what in Chicago is known as raising hell with my mates. Monday came around and I remembered Eugene. I swear, to the day I die I'll have a little guilt about not going sooner… I know it wasn't my fault, Jack, but still…

Eugene and his Mam lived in a ground floor flat in Westmoreland Street. Not much to look at but not the worst neighborhood either. When I got there, though, I knew something had happened. Neighbours going in and out, everyone speaking in low tones, and a young female constable by the door. Of course, now I would know immediately what was going on.

The constable stopped me. "And who might you be?"

"I'm a friend of Mrs. Jones's daughter, Branwen. I've just come home from the States and she asked me to stop by and say hello to her mam."

She nodded and let me in. It was one of those places where you step straight into the parlour. It was a chintzy sort of place, all womanly and pink I mean, with flower borders on the wallpaper and antimacassars on the back and arms of every chair. Hard to believe a man even passed through, much less lived there.

Mrs. Jones was seated in an armchair by the fireplace. She had that look, Gwen knows it, every cop knows it, the one that says someone's whole world has caved in. There were a couple of ladies bustling about with tea things. I went up to her and introduced myself.

"Yeah, Bran said you would come by." She sniffed into a handkerchief. "I'm sorry, but I don't think this is… I can't…"

I sat on the ottoman near her feet. "What happened, Mrs. Jones?"

Once she started talking there was no shutting her up, not that I wanted to. "They don't know, really. They found him in a ditch by the side of the motorway. There was this restaurant there he used to go with some of his friends… They think he was hit by a car, but they have a witness that says he ran into traffic like a madman… One of the constables said it could have been suicide, but why would he do that when he had been so very happy?"

"Why was he happy, Mrs. Jones? Do you know?"

"He wouldn't tell me!" She wailed. "He said it was a surprise. But I can tell you it scared me because all of a sudden he had money in his pocket and Eugene never had two shillings to his name at any one time that he didn't waste in all his silly car boot sale trash."

"How do you know he had money?" I asked.

"Well, look!" She reached to the mantel and handed me an object. "This isn't the sort of thing you can buy at Oxfam, now, is it?"

It certainly wasn't. It was a silver apple about the size of my fist, and from the weight, it was solid sterling. But there was something else.

It smelled. And it wasn't a pleasant smell, either. Have you ever smelled a fish pond that hasn't been cleaned in months, and the fish are all dead, and the water is growing grey glops of algae everywhere? That's what it smelled like.

I also noticed that nobody else seemed to notice the stink.

"When will Branwen get home, Mrs. Jones?"

"We don't know yet. What with the funeral expenses there might be nothing left for a ticket."

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."

On the way out I spoke to the constable. Lydia Mackintosh, now detective inspector Mackintosh over at Shrewsbury. I asked her about an investigation and she gave me a cynical look.

"You think the death of a young Pagan man from the wrong side of town is really going to light a fire under their bums?" She said bitterly, touching the chain she wore around her neck. "Ashamed I am sometimes of being a Christian."

I walked out into the sunlight. The stink of the apple had given me a headache. There was something wrong about the whole thing, and, if Lydia were to be believed, nobody in the Glamorgan Police gave a damn about any of it.

But I knew someone else who might. I ducked into the first pub I saw and asked to use their phone.

"Mr. Harkness? I don't know if you remember me. Andy Davidson… Yeah, right. Listen, is there any way I could meet with you? I just came across something that might be Torchwood business."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack gave me his address. I remembered the place as soon as I wrote it down. Big place in Pontcanna with a nice garden right on the Taff. My parents used to take us there, the whole lot of us, including third cousins, on hot summer nights. There was a little dock and we would swim while the adults grilled sausages. Jack would make these big pitchers of orange juice with grenadine syrup – just like the ones the adults were drinking – and we thought we were so grown up. Took me ten years to realize we weren't getting the tequila!

I had borrowed my Tad's old Ducati, so it wasn't long before I was sweeping through the big iron gates of Jack's property. Nothing much had changed. The big oak tree still shaded half the lawn and flower beds flanked the drive. The house still looked like a castle, even to my adult eyes, with the tower at one end and the door shaded by a porch supported by columns with capitals carved with dragons and red campion.

Jack must have heard the bike, because the door opened before I had a chance to knock. I started to look up automatically and was actually startled to see my head reached his chin. He must have noticed the gobsmacked look on my face because he grinned.

"Little Andy's all grown up. Come in."

He led the way to the study, which I remembered mainly because we hadn't been allowed to go in, so we were always trying to sneak a peek. We were convinced there was some deep dark secret about Jack's study. Once I had managed to get as far as opening the door and sticking my head in, but all I had seen were bookshelves and a desk the size of a small boat. The bookshelves and desk were still there, but this time I was able to see into the niche caused by the curve of the ornamental tower. It was filled by a large glass-fronted curio cabinet, its shelves displaying some of the most beautiful objects I had ever seen.

The smell nearly knocked me on my arse.

Jack got to me before I could collapse. He guided me to an armchair and looked down at me with worried eyes. "What's going on, Andy?"

I took a deep breath and tried not to sound like a total loony. "Before you call my Tad to have me sectioned, can I ask you something?"

The look he gave me made me realize that I hadn't quite managed the sanity I'd been aiming for. "Go ahead. Ask."

"Is there… do you know of anyone… who could… smell magic? I know it sounds crazy, but…"

"Yes."

My mouth fell open. I must have looked a right berk.

"You think you might be?"

"That's what I was coming to see you about. Well, part of it, anyway."

He sat on the armchair opposite mine. "Go ahead."

So I told him everything that had happened earlier. He listened like he really wanted to know. I'm sure you've all experienced it, that total concentration that makes you think you're the only thing in the world that holds his interest. It's all a load of bollocks, of course, but I've seen grown men spill state secrets when he does it.

After I finished, he looked at me for a second or two. "Can you smell anything now?"

"No offense, Jack, but this place reeks." He nodded towards the curio cabinet. "That thing... are all of those magic objects?"

He went to the curio cabinet and took out a battered silver circlet. He handed it to me. "Let's see what you can make out of this."

I looked it over. It had been etched with a simple triple spiral pattern. Three pigeon's blood rubies had been mounted on it so that the larger one would sit in the middle of the forehead and the other two at the temples. The smell was faint, but there was no mistaking it. "Horses… blood… something musky, but not like fur… steel… shit. What is this thing, Jack?"

"The battle crown of Uthyr Pendraeg."

"But… it had to have gone to his…"

"Yes. After Brwydr Camlan, it was taken north for protection."

I turned it over in my hands. One of the greatest treasures of Wales and it smelled of horses, blood, and shit. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me; those were plentiful things in battle in those days.

"What does this mean, Jack?"

"It means no University, kiddo. It's Cor Tewdws and Sensitives' training for you." He took the crown and replaced it in the cabinet. "There are maybe a dozen people in all of Europe with this talent, and for most it seems to be hit and miss. You can already distance yourself from the reek and identify its components. And that's without training. If you make it through the course, you'll have your pick of employers."

"I'm Torchwood," I said, not even thinking about it, but it had the ring of truth to it. "Besides, it's not as if I need the money."

"No, I suppose not."

"All right, then. As soon as I find out what happened to Eugene, I'll present myself at Lanilltud Fawr."

"It's important to you."

"Yeah. He was a dreamer, Jack. A little nobody who wanted a better life for his family. He got in over his head, or somebody pushed him in. And that's not acceptable."

I think Jack was a little amused at my righteous speech…. Impressed? Come on, Jack. I sounded like the hero in a bad epic. All I can say in my defence is that Torchwood hadn't kicked my illusions out of me yet. Anyway, he was nice enough not to laugh at me.

"What do you know about Eugene?"

"He worked at the big technofiction bookstore in Mermaid Quay. On weekends he went to car boot sales and footie matches with mates. And he dreamed of magic."

"Did he have any?"

"No. The whole family tested null. Well, Branwen has flashes of intuition that are higher than normal, but it all ties in to her work. Will make her very successful in her career, I should think. Eugene didn't even have that. His outlet was to collect magic objects and dream of finding the one prize that would make his fortune."

"And maybe he found it."

"If the silver apple is any evidence, he certainly found something."

"All right. Take the lead on this."

I nearly got a bruise from my jaw hitting the floor. "Me?"

"Somebody has to and we are rather short-staffed at the moment." He said with a grimace. "Consider it your audition."

"Ta ever so much, uncle Jack." I snarked at him.

"Go on with you, youngster." He grinned. "Keep me informed. Where are you going first?"

"The bookstore, I think. No, don't get up. I'll see myself out." Suddenly, a childhood memory returned and I turned back to Jack. "I hear the latest volume of the adventures of John Smith was just published. Want me to pick you up a copy?"

"Brat. I am on standing order with Waterstones for that particular series."

I snickered as I left. Jack's passion for the adventures of the extraterrestrial being that travelled in a space ship disguised as an old-fashioned telephone box had been a matter of amusement for Torchwood people for decades. I mean, extraterrestrials traveling around the Universe solely by technological means? But when someone teased him, Jack would only grin and say _one never knows, does one?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andy's Dad's motorcycle http://motorbike-search-engine.co.uk/classic_bikes/1957_ducati_175t.jpg
> 
> Cor Tewdws http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cor_Tewdws


	3. Chapter 3

Accelerando Books was across the street from the Tesco Express, in a nineteenth century building that had once been a pub. The owner had hit upon the brilliant idea of keeping the licence and serving beer and wine in the evenings. Comfortable low sofas and chairs were arranged among the shelves on the ground floor, allowing for conversation, games, and drinking, mostly all three. Upstairs there were cozy reading nooks and an actual fireplace.

The owner, Harlan Potter – _yeah, I've heard it before and it wasn't funny the first time_ – was a ginger mountain with a lovely smile and a look in his eye that told even the most obtuse of customers that he was quite capable of keeping the peace if it became necessary. When he shook my hand I just barely managed not to rub my crushed fingers.

"Aren't you a little young for Torchwood?"

"Rules are a little different for us. I'd like to talk to you about Eugene Jones."

The man heaved a sigh. "I'm going to miss him. Eugene was a favorite around here. Knew everything there was to know about technofiction and didn't mind spending an hour or two with a customer."

"Your other customers didn't mind waiting?"

"Nah. The regulars, they know where to find stuff if they're in a hurry. Sometimes they would get into the conversation and it would turn into a debating society meeting." He grinned genially. "And usually everyone would walk out with a bag full."

"That's quite a talent he had, then."

"Oh, yeah. When he first started here I often asked him why he didn't move on to one of the bigger places. He could have made a fortune on commissions." He shook his head. "He told me he liked it here, where he knew the people and the neighbourhood. Besides, he would say, _someday I'm going to find my treasure and I'll buy in as your partner, Mr. P._ A dreamer, he was."

"You liked him."

"Yeah." His mouth twisted in disgust. "That bloody copper who came here said they thought he might have killed himself. Ignorant sod, and so I told him. Just because Eugene was a Pagan it didn't mean he was careless of his life. Besides, he was not depressed or sick or anything. Eugene lived in the certainty that he was going to find his treasure some day."

I examined the display of John Smith books next to the counter. "Did he ever talk to anyone about his treasure hunting?"

"Sure. There's a little club of them, from all over Cardiff. Magic hunters, they call themselves. They traded stuff." He frowned. "Wait a minute. That's strange."

"What?"

"Mrs. Glynn. She was a particular mate of Eugene's. I heard somewhere she had died a couple of weeks ago. Hold on." He walked to the stairwell and bellowed. "Josh! Down here a minute!"

The guy who sprinted down the stairs was one of those overly nervous types who talk with their hands flapping all over the place like a full clothesline in a high wind. He had greasy blond hair in a pony tail and a dirty neck.

"Josh, didn't you tell me Mrs. Glynn had some sort of accident?"

Josh giggled nervously. "Well, that's what the family's giving out, but people say she killed herself."

I traded a look with Mr. Potter. "Why?"

Josh looked at me with a befuddled expression. "Why what?"

"Why are people saying she killed herself?"

"Just what they're saying. She was out on her boat in a storm. My Mam says no way she would do that. Mrs. Glynn was too good a sailor."

Mr. Potter nodded. "I'd think the same myself. Mairwen Glynn was no fool and she had been sailing since she was a little girl. She wouldn't take risks like that."

"Did you see Mrs. Glynn talking to Eugene recently?"

"Yeah." Josh said. "She was here right before she died. The day before or maybe the day before that. I was back there," he pointed, "unpacking a new shipment, so I heard them."

"Do you know what it was about?"

"She brought him a package to keep for her. I heard her tell him to keep it in a safe place until she came back. Said if she wasn't back in a few days to take it to the Bishop." He made a funny little excited noise. "Maybe that's why she was killed. She had found something important!"

"Maybe. Josh, do you know any other mates of Eugene's?"

"Linda and Gary. Linda works at the Tesco," he pointed over his shoulder, "and Gary, well, he says he's a student. Linda spent a lot of time with Eugene. Saturday I saw them at the concert on the Plas. Gotta go. We had a tour bus here this morning and they've left the place a mess."

I watched him until he was half-way up the stairs. "Josh!"

He looked down at me. "Yeah?"

"Is it fun playing stupid?"

He laughed. "Yeah."

Mr. Potter chuckled. "I wonder if you would catch that."

"Hard to miss."

"Most people do, actually. So you have two people dead in supposed accidents that people think could be suicide. Coincidence?"

"No such thing in Torchwood," I answered him. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter."

"Mairwen Glynn lived in the red brick flats on James Street. The ones with the archways." He tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of him and read the address off the screen. "With a daughter-in-law, I think."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Maybe I don't like losing good customers and good workers," he growled. "Or maybe I resent the fact that some lout is running around killing harmless daydreamers. Or just maybe I know how it feels to find something wonderful and have it change your life." He looked around. "I was spending my life writing trusts and wills for boring, annoying rich people and reading technofiction on the side. One day I walked past this place. It was shuttered, filthy, falling apart. And I saw a bookstore. And here I am. Eugene should have had the same chance."

I nodded. "I think so too."

I left the bookstore and headed for the Tesco. Linda Martin, Eugene's mate, was the manager's assistant, which in that place translated into someone working as an accountant for a secretary's wage. She was a pretty girl with a permanent sour look etched on her face, but she did get a soft look in her eyes when I mentioned Eugene. She pointed at the manager's office door.

"He'll be a pain in the arse until you leave. Wait outside. I go on my break in fifteen minutes."

I loitered by the front door until she came out. We wandered into one of the many cafes in the Quay and ordered tea and biscuits.

"He was a good guy, Eugene," she told me. "Head always in the clouds, but a good guy. When I told him I had this dream to visit Australia he found me some guidebooks and DVD's and things and told me to make my plans, because someday he would give me the money. I laughed at him, but there was something about him that made you trust him, you know?" At my nod, she kept on. "I miss him."

"Mr. Potter says the same. Linda, did he ever say anything about getting his hands on something? Something valuable?"

"Eugene? No, never… Wait. There was something. About a week ago. We were having tea and he said that he had come into a small inheritance. He didn't know how much it was worth, but he was hoping it was enough."

"Did he say what it was?"

"No. I figured somebody had died and left him a few quid. You know, an uncle or something." She looked at her watch. "I got to go back. If I'm late even a minute the bastard will dock me ten."

I walked her back. "One last thing, Linda. When was the last time you saw Eugene?"

"I've been away to my tad's for two weeks. He's not been well and needed some help. It must have been about then."

I nodded and watched her go. If Josh had been right – and I had the feeling he missed damn little – Eugene and Linda had been together at a concert two days before. Just an innocent outing with a good friend. So why did Linda feel the need to lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Accelerando_ is the title of a book by the British writer Charles Stross. http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/s/charles-stross/ . Science fiction as it should be done, folks!


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Glynn's daughter-in-law let me in very reluctantly and only after I had assured her twice that I wasn't from Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs. "You never know when those vultures will want their cut. They're going to have to wait like everyone else."

I made sympathetic noises while I wondered why so many Britons were idiots about their own tax laws. I had looked at Mrs. Glynn's finances just on the off chance she had made a big sale in the last days before her death. She was a hard-working, thrifty lady, but any estate she left would be comfortably below the threshold.

"I hope you don't mind the kitchen. I just made some tea."

"The kitchen will be fine."

She led me down a hall lined with wall-mounted display shelves filled with ordinary magical objects: Egyptian scarabs that gave people nightmares if placed under the bed; fairy apples to fix the attention of the one you lust after; a Mayan rattle to call the rain spirits; even a really good example of a never-ending thread. But I couldn't for the life of me see anything that would drive people to murder.

"What did you say you wanted to know?"

"I'm trying to find out if your mother-in-law found something of interest in the weeks before she died."

She gave me a shrewd look. "This is about Eugene, isn't it?"

I decided right then and there to abandon all subterfuge. This Mrs. Glynn reminded me of my mam; sharp as a needle and not tolerant of what mam called rannygazoo.

"Yes, ma'am. I think Mrs. Glynn's and Eugene's death are related."

She poured tea and settled a plate of biscuits on the table between us. "I'm glad someone does. The twpsyn who came to see me kept lecturing me about letting my mother-in-law go out in a storm. As if Mairwen were a toddler that I could keep in leading strings or a doddering old fool." She bit into a biscuit viciously. "Idiot."

"The police are equally uninterested in Eugene. So here I am." I told her a little about my friendship with Branwen. "It… irritates… me that nobody thinks him important."

She studied me for a minute. "All right. Yes. Mairwen did find something. She wouldn't tell me what it was, but she was very unnerved by it. You have to understand, she was in the hunt for the fun of it.Whatever she found scared her."

"Did she give you any hints at all?"

"No… except… well, maybe. One night we were watching television and there was a show about an empath psychologist who profiles criminals for Scotland Yard. Mairwen said something… let me see if I can remember exactly… she said _Lizzie, there's nothing exciting about looking into somebody's mind. It's disgusting in there_. I thought she was giving me one of her usual pronouncements, and I laughed. She looked a little sad, but after a while she started to laugh too, so I forgot about it until now."

I didn't like that one bit. Artifacts that allow even a glimpse into a human mind are not exactly seelie – none of the blessed want to read people's minds. Between human beings that sort of thing is dangerous.

"Could she have spoken to Eugene about it?"

"If it were anyone, it would be him. Mairwen was really fond of Eugene." She refilled her cup. "Two of a kind, they were."

I will own that at this point I found myself completely blocked. The only two people who could tell me what I wanted to know were dead. Unless I could get Linda to open up I had nothing. I said a quick prayer to Saint Gwenfrewy, patron saint of crazy Welshmen.

"Did you look through Eugene's ledger?" Mrs. Glynn asked me.

"Ledger? What ledger?"

"According to Mairwen he kept a ledger of every item he found, or even heard about. If she told him about it, he would have recorded it." She smiled fondly. "She admired his thoroughness."

I sighed. "Thank you, Saint Gwenfrewy."

She laughed. "She is helpful, isn't she?"

I said goodbye to Mrs. Glynn – the only Mrs. Glynn left – and raced back to Eugene's home. Mrs. Jones was very happy to see me.

"Branwen called me to tell me she was on her way and that you were looking into Eugene's death. I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to. Branwen is a friend. I was happy to help."

When I asked about Eugene's ledger, she pointed me downstairs. "He fixed the basement into a little museum. Everything would be down there."

Mrs. Jones had been literal in her description. The basement was a museum, with cases lining the walls. They were filled with the same things that I had seen in Mrs. Glynn's hallway. At the far end, a work table and two chairs were arranged under a large spotlight. A big accounting-style ledger rested on the table, squarely in front of the largest chair.

I turned on the spotlight and sat down to look through the ledger. Eugene would have made a good policeman. Everything was detailed: item, supposed effect, finder, location found, and amount paid. The last page had a single entry: _Hezār-o yek šab vision bottle, Mairwen Glynn, St. Illtud jumble sale, two shillings_. The entry was followed by a list of numbers: 150, 275, 450, 600, 850, 1200, 10000. And at the end, another entry: _meet at Annie's, Sunday at 3_.

I sat there trying to control my shivers. Hezār-o yek šab vision bottles, named after the time it took to make them, were among the most dangerous of magical objects. The Celtic Church destroyed them as they found them. Rumours had it a small collection was kept by the Catholics in one of their treasuries in Rome under triple locks. The reason for the caution is very simple: the liquid in them is a psychotropic substance. If rubbed over the eyes and the temples, it gives the bottle's owner the ability to read thoughts. It's dependent on native ability, of course, but even the psychically null can get results. The problem is that while you're reading someone's mind, your own is slowly being leached into the liquid and becomes part of it. As it becomes filled with mind, it becomes insanely powerful, and I use insanely advisedly.

From the numbers, it looked as if Eugene had been auctioning one off.

The sums made a very big jump between the last two numbers. Either someone had realized what Eugene had and had trumped all other offers or it was a lure to bring him and his bottle to Annie's.

I went back upstairs. Mrs. Jones was sitting in her armchair by the fireplace, looking through a photo album. She looked at me with wet eyes. "He was a good boy, you know."

"I know. Can I borrow a recent photo, Mrs. Jones?"

She leafed to the back of the book and pulled one out. It showed Eugene at his work table, bent over something. He had turned his head to look at the photographer and grinned. It was a sweet grin, like a young boy caught at play.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones. I'll bring it back."

Annie's was a drab little American-style diner right by the M4. The girl behind the counter identified the photo immediately.

"Eugene? Sure. He's one of our regulars."

"Was he here last week?"

"Sure. Sunday. With Gary and Linda. They always come together." She frowned. "There was some sort of argument, because Eugene flew out of here and the other two chased after him."

"Did you see in which direction they went?"

"I think… towards the woods."

I went out and followed the short trail into the woods. It wasn't really a proper wood, just a stand of trees that had been left over from the motorway construction. People had been running wild in it; there were chip wraps and other more disgusting things littering the ground.

And the stench was unbearable.

I followed the smell to a small clearing from which I could see another trail that led right into the motorway. It was so bad I could barely breathe. It was my second encounter with a powerful object, but compared to this Uthyr's crown had smelled like roses and lily of the valley. This was something like walking into a battlefield where the bodies had been rotting for several days. But the funny thing was, in spite of how much my head ached, I knew exactly where the bottle was. I walked to the edge of the trail and put my hand down into a stand of knee-high grass.

"I think I want that."

I turned around. Linda was standing at the edge of the clearing. Beside her was a tall, muscular man in jeans and a leather jacket. He had the look of someone who liked to bash things. "Gary, I presume?"

"No talking," Linda said. "Give me the bottle."

"How did you manage to convince Eugene to sell this?" I held up the bottle. "It wasn't his, and he was an honest bloke."

"I told him the doctor had found a tumor," she put on a phony sweet voice. "And I so wanted to see Australia before I died, you see." She turned cold and vicious. "He was hopeless at technology, couldn't even use a computer. I told him I had put it up for auction."

"But he started to suspect there was something wrong, so he used the water. He discovered what you had done. And he ran."

"Right into traffic, the stupid git. No more talking, Toss me the bottle."

I made an overhanded throwing gesture, but at the last minute I dropped the bottle to the ground in front of me and brought my foot down on top of it. Linda's scream of rage was drowned by the horrible sounds of souls escaping the broken bottle.

A huge wind seemed to howl through the wood, swirling leaves and stick and garbage off the ground. It circled around Linda and Gary. It seemed to tear at them, as if invisible hands were grabbing and shaking them to pieces. Other things were moving in that whirlwind, and I wasn't sure I wanted to see them.

The noise became so excruciatingly painful that I covered my ears and staggered backwards towards the motorway. Suddenly, the wind died completely and Linda and Gary dropped to the ground. I didn't need to be close to know they were dead. The whirlwind was dissipating and for a moment, I saw Eugene's face in the wind. He was grinning at me.

I waited a few more minutes, and once everything was calm, I walked back to the diner. There was a pay phone there. I had to call Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andy's patron saint http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winefride
> 
> She also is the subject of Ellis Peters' first Brother Cadfael novel, A Morbid Taste for Bones
> 
> Hezār-o yek šab is the Persian name for this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Thousand_and_One_Nights. I'm borrowing the name. Sue me.


	5. Coda

_Jack pulled Ianto tight as they crossed the Plas. It was a soft, balmy night, and there were still people around, so he was surprised to feel Ianto lean into him. Ianto tended to be very reserved in public; even among their friends, he kept a certain distance. It was only in private that Ianto let go of restraint._

_Once he had been reassured that he would not turn psychic vampire, Ianto had become a fearless lover. Jack had found himself in the unusual position of being led rather than leading. He was enjoying it immensely. It had been centuries since he had found someone who was his equal in so many ways._

_As they entered the Hub, Ianto pressed his lips to Jack's jaw and then disengaged gently. "Go check on Myfanwy and I'll make us some coffee?"_

_Jack agreed. They had gotten into the habit of sharing a last cup of coffee before going to bed, and talking about anything that suited their fancy. He climbed to the dragon's aerie and spent some time talking to her and scratching her back ridges. He loved her deep rumbling purr and the gentle shivers that travelled through her body. Finally, when the delightful smell of Ianto's coffee drifted up into the aerie, he said goodbye to the sleepy-eyed dragon and went down to the sitting area._

_Ianto arrived at the same time bearing two mugs. Jack got comfortable on the sofa then reached for his, patting the seat next to him with his other hand. Ianto smiled and settled in, cuddling against Jack's side._

_"The answer is yes." Jack said, deciding to take the bull by the horns. "Andy and I were lovers. It lasted a few months. It wasn't quite just fuck buddies but it wasn't a romance. He went through a very rough period about his sexuality, so he asked me for help."_

_"How did you know I was wondering?"_

_"The way you looked at him while he was telling Eugene's story."_

_"Why did it end?"_

_"He met a lovely guy. They dated for about two years." Jack sipped his coffee. "Marius died in a helicopter accident. Andy was celibate for a long while after. Then he met Zoe. That is still on-off, I think."_

_"Would it… horrify… you to know that it made me a little… aroused? The idea of you and Andy I mean." Ianto sounded a bit worried. "I don't mean I want to… but…"_

_Jack laughed. "Why, Mr. Jones. I knew you were innovative, but I didn't realize you bordered on the avant garde. Tell me, if I asked you what you wanted right now that your imagination is sparking, what would you say?"_

_Ianto took both their mugs and put them on the table. "Lesson number two. I need the practice."_

 

Jack woke up to the feeling of a warm wet cloth being brushed gently across his chest and stomach. Ianto was sitting on the edge of the bed, lower lip caught between his teeth – a very sexy look on him, Jack thought, although he was coming to realize that Ianto's every look seemed sexy to him – watching as Jack's cock responded to his ministrations. Ianto smelled of Jack's soap and his hair was still wet; he must have been in the shower and… Jack's eyes drifted down to Ianto's lap and he smiled.

"What a great way to wake up." He said, stretching. "Do we have anything on the agenda today?"

"I checked the monitors and it's all quiet. Tosh called. She went by the hospital. Rhys is still in a coma but they think he'll be all right. She's taking Owen and Andy out for breakfast a little later and then making sure they go home and go to bed. They spent the whole night with Gwen and Rhys. I told her not to come in until noon."

"Good. More time for us."

Jack pulled him down and kissed him, running his hands up and down Ianto's back, kneading into the muscle. He felt Ianto stretch out and moved a little to make room. Ianto's legs tangled with his and Ianto's hand travelled across Jack's hip to stroke Jack's leaking erection. Jack ran his hands back down to grip Ianto's buttocks and press their erections together.

"Jack, wait." Ianto pulled away a little. "I want…"

Jack released him with a smile. "What do you want, Ianto?"

Ianto didn't answer with words. Instead he smoothed his fingers over Jack's cock and brought them to his mouth, licking Jack's precome off. The sight made Jack shiver. He clamped down on his cheek to control the need surging through him.

"Do you want to or do you want me to?"

"Both?" Ianto's pupils were blown, big, dark pools filled with lust. "At the same time. Can we?"

Jack smiled in delight. "Oh yeah. We can. Lay on your side on the pillow. Yes, like that."

He turned about. Taking another pillow, he made himself comfortable. In this position Ianto's cock was exactly at eye level – well, mouth level, he thought, giving a wicked little smirk. He could feel Ianto's breath on the head of his own erection, and that was the only warning he got before Ianto's tongue swiped across his cock, lapping it from root to tip.

Air hissed out of Jack's lungs as Ianto licked delicately at the head of Jack's cock, probing the opening with the tip of his tongue before licking down to swipe over his heavy sac.

"Been reading up, Ianto?" he gasped.

"Fantasizing."

"I think," Jack bit down hard on Ianto's thigh, "that you're a little too certain of yourself here." He licked at the red mark he had left. "Let's just even this playing field a little."

He took the bulbous head of Ianto's cock in his mouth, sucking lightly then swirling his tongue around it. He heard Ianto's strangled moan, felt his skin flush and smelled Ianto's musky sweat. He relaxed his throat muscles and swallowed Ianto to the root.

But his lover wasn't giving in or backing down. Ianto tried to match Jack's every move, duplicate his every touch. Jack felt himself losing ground as Ianto caressed his arse, separating Jack's buttocks to explore the space between. His body tensed as the suction of Ianto's mouth became more intense, as Ianto's body began to shiver uncontrollably. For a moment he thought of using one of the many tricks he knew to stave off orgasm, but the sheer need became a burning in his lungs and his gut and he let himself flow into the moment, surrendering to Ianto's touch, Ianto's passion, as Ianto was surrendering to him.

Their bodies were so sensitized, their skin so sensitive to touch and taste, that their mutual explosion was a sort of relief. Jack spasmed, pouring himself into Ianto's mouth. A few seconds later Ianto screamed as his back arched and he filled Jack's mouth. Jack swallowed, delighted at the musky, creamy taste.

They dozed as they lay, their heads resting on each other's thighs. Finally, Jack forced his limp muscles into one last effort and he reversed position. He pushed the pillows against the headboard and made himself comfortable. Ianto gave a little grunt as he rolled onto his stomach, resting his head on Jack's shoulder and throwing one leg across both of Jack's. Jack pressed a kiss to Ianto's forehead and closed his eyes, easing into sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoil Five: http://www.davidparlett.co.uk/histocs/maw.html
> 
> The Quadrivium: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quadrivium


End file.
